Long evenings caught in cruel Canadian cold,
Alone, she’d sit in quiet by the fire,
And darn and mend our clothing and then fold
Shirts, pants and socks before she would retire;
Each morning she would then awake at three
To stoke the coals before the morning rise
Then sleep ‘til six, our breakfast to o’er see
And send us off to school with warm goodbyes.
We were children and did not ever know
That we were poor, until we went to school,
And felt derision for the precious clothes
My mother made with worn out lonely tools.
These patches here are badges set to prove
Your ignorance, if not my mother’s love.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.